Coping
by Storymaster Caith
Summary: People have strange coping mechanisms for getting over the death of a loved one- even when that loved one came back. Kankuro-Gaara brotherfic, multi-chapter
1. Trapdoor Spider

**Coping**

_**Chapter 1: The Trapdoor Spider **_

Sabaku-no-Kankuro had a problem.

He worked too much.

You wouldn't think it by looking at him; in fact you would assume that he was a lazy slacker of the kind who would hang around the training grounds all day, trying out new pickup lines on the younger kunoichi. And if you were to reiterate this assumption to either of Kankuro's siblings, they would either laugh hysterically or threaten you with vast amounts of sand, depending on the circumstance. Temari could count on one hand the number of times her younger brother had willingly left his 'lair' and still have plenty of fingers left over.

But it was true, Kankuro was a bit of a workaholic. He had been known to disappear inside his underground workshop for days, not surfacing for air or food or sane company until whatever he was working on was done. This, Temari had always assumed, was his way of coping- with their father, their brother, everything. She had always assumed that Kankuro's slightly unhealthy tendencies would alter as he grew, become less fanatical, less..less like their father.

But they didn't.

To date the puppeteer's longest stay inside his dungeon was roughly a week.

He hadn't been seen for almost two when Temari took her concerns to Gaara.

Gaara had long ago noted Kankuro's odd stints underground as he noted all other details- the insignificant things that didn't help him exist in any way, shape, or form. But after Naruto and becoming Kazekage, Gaara couldn't deny that things like his brother sitting in the dark working on something for so long he might have forgotten about the sun worried him immensely. Because Kankuro had become what Rock Lee termed a 'special person'.

And one of Gaara's special people had, theoretically, gone without food for over seventy two hours.

Which meant, naturally, war.

**oOo **

Temari glanced over at Gaara. He nodded at her. He'd foregone his kazekage robes when she explained the plan to him, and was now wearing his more battle-ready maroon overcoat and pants. She herself had two smaller tessen hand fans and numerous projectile weapons. Both siblings had breathing masks, like the ones worn daily by rain ninja, hanging around their necks.

"Ready?" she asked.

"On three," Gaara agreed. "One...two...THREE."

Both launched themselves at the tall wooden door. Temari felt the tug of a hidden string and cursed; sand wrapped around her, senbon bouncing off of it as Gaara made for the doorhandle. It was locked. With a quirk of his lips sand grains filled the mechanism. The Kazekage cursed when he heard the low hiss of hidden vents and yanked his mask up as dark blue fog filled the corridor; he continued to bang on the door as Temari joined him, sidestepping the thin column of shooting kunai spat from the doorframe.

Gaara let out a little 'hn' noise as the handle gave way. The sand tugged the door open- and both siblings flattened themselves against the walls as chakra charged detonation tags shot past them to explode harmlessly in the middle of the corridor.

Silence fell. Temari tried to even out her breathing as Gaara pulled carefully away from the wall. They both stuck their heads forward.

"Kankuro!" Temari called.

Nothing.

"KANKURO!"

Nada.

"Kankuro, I swear if you don't come out of there NOW we're going to-"

She didn't have time to react to the wakizashi headed right at her forehead.

The blade was inches from Temari's face when the sand shot out, wrapping around the weapon and flinging it into the old stucco. Pieces of the wall flaked off as Temari's instincts finally kicked in and she ducked into a roll. The blonde sat up, snarling. "Oh that is IT puppet boy! When I get my hands on you I'm gonna tear your heart out, you hear me?!"

There was no response.

Gaara could see the panic rising on Temari's face as he felt a strange tightness in his chest. Without another word the two charged into the room. Temari groped for the light switch and found it, the dull hum sounding hollow in their ears as dim yellow runner lights came to life.

There were cabinets and hooks lining the walls; puppets hung from the ceiling, in pieces or whole. Some were painted, some were not. There were scroll racks and saws and pots of poisons, all tools of a trade Temari showed no affinity for and Gaara had no patience to learn.

That wasn't what they were focused on.

Instead their eyes went straight to a table closest to the door.

Gaara blinked a few times, then cautiously stepped further into the room, making a beeline for the red-headed doppleganger laid out as though in state across the wood. He could hear Temari behind him and felt her pause next to him as they stared down at Gaara- Gaara with his black ringed eyes closed peacefully as though sleeping. His flawless skin was the perfect shade, his fingers just the right length. Even the 'ai' scar was perfection, right down to its narrowed edges, scoured by sand so many years ago. The Kazekage was fairly sure he recognized the coat the clone was wearing- it could only have been lifted from his personal belongings.

Fascinated, Gaara reached out a hand.

"I wouln' do tha' ifIwesyou."

Gaara stiffened and jerked around as Temari did. Leaning against the far wall, half bent over with bloodshot eyes, Kankuro observed his siblings mellowly. Temari cursed quietly. If they'd been able to catch him off guard, like the last few times they had removed him forcibly, he would usually go without much of a fight, a trapdoor spider dragged from his den.

But catching Kankuro off guard was like trying to weasel out of buying Uzumaki ramen.

"y'might breakim." Kankuro said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was slurring horribly. "I hav..haven' got the _eyes _right yet, ja.." He gestured with one hand; a kunai on the nearby table flipped up and began tapping a nonsense rhythm in automatic reaction to flickering chakra strings.

Temari and Gaara glanced at one another; it was mutually decided that Gaara would approach their worse-for-wear brother. The Kazekage walked forward on confident feet, although a constant ring of sand surrounded him, wary of any unseen projectiles flung from the shadows.

He was about three feet away from Kankuro when the scent hit him like he'd just walked down the main street of the redlight district well into opening hours.

"Brother," Gaara said, "Are you _drunk_?"

Kankuro rose a brow at him; Gaara realized with a soft jab of pain to the gut that there were lines in his pristine white and purple paint. Teartracks.

"Shaddap, bro." Kankuro said amicably. "You're dead, ja."

And then the puppeteer fainted.

_**A/N: Okay, okay, I admit it, I have a fetish for imagining all the different ways that Kankuro's workshop could look. DON'T JUDGE ME. This will be another multi-chapter, although I already know how it's going to end, so you won't have to wait for very long. At least, I hope you won't. Read and review!**_


	2. Crybaby Kuro

**Chapter 2: Crybaby Kuro**

_The desert was cold and dark as always, the wind slicing across the ground and through his bones. The moon was bright and Kankuro could see his little brother standing between the dunes, sand dancing at his feet like tiny children on a playground. _

"_You failed me." _

_"I didn't mean to!" he tried to walk forward and failed, the wind pushing him back. _

"_You let them take me." _

_"I swear I didn't mean it!" he struggled to stand, but now the sand was like a sieve, sucking him down to his waist. Trapped.  
_

"_You didn't try hard enough against him. You could have beaten him." _

_"That's not true! I tried as hard as I could! Everything I had, I swear! I just..I wasn't.." he couldn't breathe. Sand was filling his mouth and oh god this was what the desert coffin was like-  
_

"_You let me die, brother. Why did you let me die?" and now he's crying, Gaara shouldn't CRY; and his tears are as red as his hair. "You said you cared for me. Were you lying, Kankuro? You were, weren't you. Just like Yashamaru. Does anyone care for me? Do I even exist?" _

_"Gaara-" air, he needed air but all he could get was silicon-  
_

"_Maybe I'm better off dead." _

_GAARA! _

Kankuro awoke before he could scream, arm sweeping under his pillow for a kunai that wasn't there as Temari jerked away from the bed, falling into a chair beside it. He glanced wildly around and then reached for the bedside table, seizing an empty pen and jabbing the nib into his thigh.

"KANKURO!" Temari screeched. Panting, the puppet nin stared down at the blood dripping onto the white sheets as the pain broke through his haze.

"Just a dream." He whispered.

Temari, quickly assessed the damage as minor. She wrapped her hands around Kankuro's face, forcing him to look at her. What she saw reflected in those dark emerald eyes made her voice catch in her throat.

"Gaara," Temari called, moving to the side of the bed and wrapping her arms around Kankuro. Their Kazekage appeared in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight and scent of blood; he headed for the closet and brought down the simple medical kit.

"You're bleeding on my sheets," Gaara murmured as he tugged back the material, eying Kankuro's thigh. Temari leaned slightly forward, still holding her silent sibling; her eyes widened at the amount of gashes there. Some were small, like training nicks; others were deep, and looked as though they had required stitches. She mentally replayed what had just happened and saw in slow motion Kankuro's arm sweeping under the pillows, searching for something.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered how skilled he was at grabbing a kunai while dreaming.

"Kankuro?" she asked.

"Gaara's room." Kankuro said in a soft monotone. "We're in Gaara's room. Gaara's the Kazekage."

"Yes..." Temari said, clearly perturbed. Kankuro's fingers were twitching through what his siblings recognized as puppeteer warmups.

"Akatsuki kidnapped Gaara."

"They did." Gaara responded, pausing in wiping away the dried blood from his brother's self-inflicted wound.

"They killed you."

This was said deadpan, in such a startling imitation of their father that both Temari and Gaara looked sharply at Kankruo.

"Yes." Gaara agreed quietly. "They did."

"I failed."

Temari and Gaara looked at one another in alarm as Kankuro began to laugh quietly, shoulders convulsing as the hysterical giggles soon turned to sobs. "crybaby kuro." He whispered to himself. "crybaby kuro can't catch a thing.."

Temari hugged Kankuro closer. "Kankuro. Look at me." He didn't budge. "Kankuro, please!"

"Don't have my face on." He whispered.

Temari blinked, then reached down and took the pen Kankuro had stabbed himself with. The blood was quickly drying, but there was enough of it; without a word she gripped Kankuro's chin and drew a swirling line. On the opposite side, Gaara traced a finger over the cloth he'd been using to clean Kankuro's wound and drew a mirroring swirl. The darker-haired image of their father was quickly replaced by a lop-sided, half painted puppeteer, who blinked blearily at them.

"There." Temari said firmly. "There you are. I see you now."

"You're not dead." Kankuro said to Gaara, as though attempting to reassure himself. "You're still alive. Chiyo is dead."

"Yes." Gaara responded. "She is. Kankuro, do you know how long you were in your workshop?"

One eye slid closed. "twelve days, six hours, and forty five minutes." The puppeteer responded. "Give or take a second or two."

Temari, sensing her brother returning from whatever deep abyss he had been hovering over, smacked him lightly over the head in relief. "You moron, you scared the crap out of us!" she scolded. "We thought you were starving to death!"

Kankuro shook his head. "Stocked fridge. Little bathroom. Could stay for months, if I had to."

"You will never stay that long again." Gaara ordered. "We had to break in, Kankuro. You'll need a new door."

"Traps are meant to keep people out, you know." Kankuro replied as Temari took over the work of patching up his leg. Gaara glared at him. "Not when they're your brother and sister." He said firmly. "Kankuro, you were exhausted, dehydrated, and drunk. Even with all those things down there you weren't using them."

"You've been asleep for almost three days, Kankuro." Temari added quietly. "We just moved you in here this morning."

"And I'm not in my room why?" the puppeteer asked.

Both siblings just gave him a look, which easily translated into because-you-would-have-gone-back-if-we-let-you-alone-and-we-would-have-had-to-break-your-legs-to-get-you-to-rest.

Kankuro grunted, which was irritated puppeteer for well-of-course-I-would-have-and-I-would-like-to-see-you-try.

There was a moment of silence, and then Gaara offered Kankuro two small pills. The puppeteer looked at them and then at his brother.

"You need to rest." Gaara said firmly. Temari lightly patted Kankuro on the head. "I agree with Gaara." She said quietly. Kankuro glanced from one sibling to another and quickly decided that the fight wouldn't be worth it. He took the pills and swallowed them dry with a straight face.

**oOo**

Kankuro wasn't any stranger to nightmares.

He had been having them for years, ever since he was a child. They were always realistic, causing him to wake sobbing on more than one occasion. When Kankuro was in the Kazekage's citadel, it wasn't so bad, because at least then he had Temari; but he never went to her, he never dared, because who knew what was waiting just outside his door in the dark?

When he was in the playhouse dormitory, it was even worse. There were other boys there, boys who didn't have an insane younger brother, boys who weren't forced to watch executions or train with broken limbs. Boys who, over time, had come to call him 'Crybaby Kuro'

At least, they had until the day the five who slept closest to Kankuro's bed fell deathly ill. Three had to put their genin careers on hold as they healed; the other two avoided Kankuro for the rest of their time with the puppeteers, and as soon as they moved from genin to chunin requested service as Border Guards.

Chiyo had never been able to discover how Kankuro did it, and he'd take the secret with him to his grave. After that no one commented when he cried, and eventually, true to his blood and his heritage, sheer stubbornness won out. The crying stopped, the sudden awakenings grew less frequent. Crybaby Kuro smoothly disappeared; Puppet Master Kankuro quietly and gracefully took his place.

But that didn't stop the nightmares.

If he were to look back Kankuro couldn't pinpoint when he had started using pain to draw himself out of his vivid dreams; it was probably sometime when he was ten, and in flailing to get the covers off he had vigorously stubbed his toe on his bed railing. The jolt of pain had immediately brought him back to the real world.

He kept a kunai under his pillows after that; learned basic medical jutsu to patch himself up if he stabbed a little too hard, if the dream was a little too real.

He thought about these things idly as he padded past the final doorway, to the long stairwell that would carry him down to his home sweet home. The blood on his face had dried, was flaking. Kankuro never looked either of them in the face, nor spoke to them directly, if he wasn't wearing his paint. He hadn't since his initiation, when he was given his first design, his first defensive wall against the face that stared back at him in the mirror. He would have to choose something new soon. Maybe he could take something from a history, since his last few had been comedies. Once he finished his project, of course. One never changed their paint in the middle; bad luck.

Gaara had been right when he said Kankuro would need a new door. The puppeteer blinked at the battered remains of what had once been the entry to his workshop and then made a hand sign. The genjutsu on the secondary door, set into the wall a few feet from the first, was easily dispelled. He opened it with a yawn, ducking the four kunai aimed at his head while his feet lifted in an automatic motion over the trigger-sensor that would open the small pit of spikes.

Karasu was leaning against the wall, right where his master had left him.

"Miss me?" he asked. Karasu clicked a bit, raising on chakra strings to the hooks he usually hung on. He was still missing an arm, the next thing on the puppeteer's to-do list. Kankuro went about blocking up the other door with battered chunks of wood. It wouldn't keep his brother and sister out if they were determined, but it would slow them down a bit.

Kankuro turned towards the table and blinked, rubbing his eyes.

"I must be more tired than I thought." He informed the second Gaara puppet that was sitting before the table the first one rested on, watching him with those quiet green eyes.

"You should be asleep." The puppet said quietly.

"And you should be dead." Kankuro shot back. "All's fair in love and war, right?"

Ignoring the second puppet, he headed over to a set of drawers. The third drawer down contained what he needed. He pulled out a green lacquered box and set it on the table.

"It still doesn't have eyes." The second puppet observed. Kankuro glared at him. "I KNOW that." He said. "I was workin' on it..."

He pulled the catch on the box and flipped it open. It was filled with many small compartments. In each compartment lay eyes- made of glass, blown by some of the most skilled artisans in Sunakagure. Kankuro bypassed the first few compartments, which held eyes any shade from blue to bright purple to Karasu's specialty dark red, and headed to the ones on the end. The puppet leaned forward, curious.

These were the eyes dyed several different shades of blue or green. Some Kankuro had accumulated, scouring the shops with a plain paint design and easily faked accent, just another puppeteer among many. Others had been given to him by fellow puppeteers, remnants of their own tools or gifts in return for favors.

"Why so many?" the puppet asked.

"Human eyes are tons of different colors." Kankuro said. "And if you want to play the right part, then you need the right props."

"I've never seen these before." The puppet said. "These are nothing like the Evil Eye pendants they sell in the markets."

"It takes a ninja glassmaker." Kankuro explained. "the glass needs to be chakra charged, so it can take to jutsus…" He squinted. "You're not a puppet." There were no seams where neck met head.

His younger brother- his Kazekage- stared at him.

"You are very tired, Kankuro." He said. The puppeteer shrugged and went back to work. He sorted quickly and efficiently through the glass eyeballs until he had four different sets laid out on the table. He closed the box and looked at them.

"No. No. Almost...and most definitely no." He sighed. "Pain in the ass. Why do your eyes have to be so damn complicated?"

"How does it work?"

Kankuro blinked at his brother. "What?"

"The..the puppet." Gaara laid a hand hesitatingly on his sleeping image's arm. "What...is it for?"

Kankuro blinked.

"So you don't die again, ja." He said matter-of-factly. He reached over and pressed a pale earlobe. The puppet's jaw immediately unhinged.

"Sleep gas here." He said. "Poison's in the tank underneath- quick acting. The kind that makes you cough blood- like I used that one time in rock country. Big stabbing needle in between." He pointed at the arms. "Shiv here, here, an' here...kunai slots under the neck an' there's a senbon holder in the wrist." He drew long fingers down the middle of the puppet's vest. "Opens up like Kuroari, to trap people. Blades on the inside...saws in the knees..." He gestured at the hands. "Flamethrowers, smoke bombs...exploding tags in the sleeves..." he squinted, thinking. "If you get blood on the scar it'll activate a destruction jutsu..."

"How would it operate?" Gaara's eyes- those damn eyes he couldn't pin down- were steady, almost curious.

"The gourd." Kankuro replied matter-of-factly. "s'got a spatial jutsu...likea lil' closet. You put the puppeteer in an' BAM, instant Kazekage. Like how Karasu carries me, only a big bundle of wrappings would be a dead giveaway for you." He shrugged. "Dunno where I'm putting the SAND yet but hey, we're still in the first phase."

"You."

Kankuro blinked. "Me?"

"You'd be the one operating this..puppet." There was an edge to Gaara's voice. "You'd be the one in danger."

Kankuro's face changed in the instant Gaara finished his sentence, and if the Kazekage didn't know any better he would say that it was almost murderous rage that appeared; but it was gone before he could pin it down and the actor's smile was affixed.

"Better me than you." Kankuro said.

"What?" The word was lashed out like a whip.

Really, it should have been the best performance of his illustrious career. It should have been easy to sluff off his socially dim sibling with some excuse about being better than him, or serving Suna, or improving puppetry by imitating the most deadpan person he knew. It should have been a role that gave him a curtain call.

But sometimes, late at night, Crybaby Kuro was easier to pacify than Puppet Master.

"I've had enough." Kankuro said. "Better me than you because at least then someone useful will survive. I couldn't save you from father and I couldn't save you from yourself and I couldn't even save you from Sasori. I've failed three times."

Kankuro's long fingers were trembling as he gripped the table. "You were DEAD, Gaara. The real deal, light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel, winding way deceased. What kind of person- what kind of brother- lets their sibling DIE and then has to rely on someone else to bring him back? I-"

He cut off, realizing what he had been about to say, strangling the words in his throat before they could make an escape.

"I might as well have killed you myself." Kankuro whispered, and the words bounced off the cabinets and the puppet parts and the glass vials, like the formation of the syllables alone was enough to bring the compound down around their ears.

"You didn't fail me."

This was the last thing Kankuro heard before a lightning-fast spike of sand slammed into a pressure point, dropping him like a stone.

Gaara looked down at his unconscious brother and then slowly, as though he found the effort painful, lifted him up. The Kazekage noted that his sibling was lighter than he should be. How much had he lost down here in this darkness?

"I told you you were tired." He said to the limp puppeteer. "Oh, and you're under house arrest. Just so you know."

The redhead looked up at the hooks on the wall; he wanted to think that it was his imagination that Karasu was looking indignant.

"I'm putting him to bed." He said, surprised at how easy it was to assume that the wooden puppet understood. "Don't let him leave until he's gotten more sleep."

Karasu's head clicked forward. Gaara left the workshop and let the lights go out.

_**A/N: and that's chapter two. Sorry for the not-so-explosive confrontation- maybe Gaara and Kankuro will have another one later if I feel up to it.**_


	3. Frog's Eyes

**Chapter 3: Frog's Eyes **

_**A/N: I know, I generally don't do beginner warnings, but this one might be required. In this chapter you will meet Frog and Matsuo, two OCs of Caithworld. Their only function in this story is to get Gaara what he needs and give new insight to puppets, the playhouse, and Suna as a whole. They should only be here for about a chapter or so and will only be briefly mentioned hereafter- no pairings, no epic battles, just NPCs doing their job.**_

Gaara walked carefully, easing his way around merchants, thieves, ner' do wells, and the children and parents of both. The Bazaar of Suna was a place that only the brave or the smart could survive. It wasn't lawless- no one would dare call a place under the rule of a ninja government lawless. However, much went on in the shadows that could barely be called legal.

The Fourth Kazekage had encouraged the growth of a small criminal empire within his domain, citing that the enemy of one's enemy was their friend. And it was true, the thieves and rogues of Suna, while not trained ninja, certainly came in handy for informational purposes- but since the Fourth's death they had stepped more cautiously. Suna, after all, was full of sand, and though what they had heard was mostly rumor, the Red Sands Puppeteers weren't the only superstitious people in the desert.

This was why Gaara had rationalized himself into wearing a cloak in the middle of the day. It wasn't an out-of-place thing to see in the Bazaar, and he had certainly had practice concealing himself from those who either meant him harm or whom he intended to harm. Still, he was glad when he came to the Mat Against the Wall.

That was what it was called- the Mat Against the Wall. As the name implied, it was a thick blue woven mat placed strategically against the wall of one of Suna's oldest shop buildings. It was a post where puppeteers would sit in their off-duty hakamas and simpler paint designs, telling stories to the children who came to market so that their parents could shop unharassed. Legend had it that where the Mat sat was the exact spot Chikamatsu Monzeimon had occupied, taking care of the children while his brother the First Kazekage and the beginnings of the suna ninja built their hidden village.

Mostly, the Mat was manned by older genin and chunin. It was as much an exercise in attentiveness and surveillance as it was a service to the community. Many an assassination attempt had been stopped by virtue of a young puppeteer spotting the assailant before he or she even made it to the Citadel. The puppeteers had to deal with harassment by less appreciative members of the community, a bombardment of all six senses, and the protection of the children they were entertaining. It was as much a trial as a duty. As such, the Mat was a revered and respected place.

There were thousands of stories, told by many different puppeteers, and the children had favorites; Gaara always knew when it was Kankuro's turn, because they would be followed by a small flock of Suna's brood, begging 'Mister Crow' to tell them about the Tanuki and the Seven Seals.

Kankuro, however, was currently under house arrest, which Gaara had only managed with a direct written order and the very real threat of hospitalization. After that, Kankuro settled down but continued to be surly. Temari had remarked that morning that he hadn't been so sore at the both of them since a mission three or four years ago, when an urgent order came in and they had to take him from the playhouse just before curtain call. Kankuro's understudy had been one of his year-mates, a wide-eyed blonde puppeteer called Frog who had watched in sheer terror as his sempai argued with the Demon of Suna.

At the mention of the mission, the wheels in Gaara's head began to turn. By early afternoon he had completed all his important paperwork and informed Baki that he was Going Out. Baki had not argued, although he had tossed a 'disgruntled underling' look Gaara's way, and had taken over the rest of the work. Gaara returned to his rooms, checked on his brother (who, with nothing else to do, had begun to whittle; Kankuro couldn't sit still unless he was on a mission or performing in a play) and headed to the Bazaar….

…where Frog was just getting off of Mat duty.

Gaara stood by a stall that sold salted lizard tongue and watched the puppeteer exchange places with his compatriot, a woman Gaara thought he could identify as 'sparrow'. The two talked good-naturedly for a moment and then Sparrow took her place, leaning forward to whisper to the children who were eagerly awaiting her words. Gaara waited until Frog shouldered the lean green silk-wrapped bundle tied in paper seals that contained his puppet and headed down the alleyway next to the Mat. Gaara made the signs for his transport jutsu and the heat of the open bazaar disappeared, to be replaced with the cool of the stucco alleyway.

"Frog?" he asked.

The puppeteer took a single step back, into the first performance position- the puppeteer's main fighting stance. His fingers twitched in a movement so slight that the untrained eye would not have picked it up. The long green-wrapped package on his back began to click. Gaara pulled back his hood and the tension evaporated.

"Kazekage-sama!" Frog bowed hastily. "Sir, what is- is Crow alright?"

Gaara fought back a small smile. "Crow is fine, Frog." He said. "But he is..incapacitated at the moment, and I am in need of your help."

Frog blinked. "Anything I can do, Kazekage-sama."

"Follow me." Gaara pulled up his hood and turned on his heel. Frog immediately fell into step behind him. They walked up the main causeway between the bazaar and the administrative buildings, winding their way through ninja and citizens alike. Gaara took the shortest route to his office, which involved wallwalking up a nearby home (it belonged to Baki's aunt, who was willing to do just about anything for Gaara now that he wasn't constantly threatening her nephew with terrible deaths) and taking the powerlines to the mission building. Frog kept up easily, his steps even lighter than Gaara's.

Once past the mission building, up the four flights of stairs, and through all of the protective jutsus that Kankuro had replaced or improved since their father's untimely demise, Gaara took his place behind his desk and motioned for Frog to sit down. Clearly uncomfortable, the puppeteer set his bundle against the nearest chair and perched carefully.

"I have a task, Frog," Gaara said evenly, "that requires your assistance."

Frog tilted his head in confusion. "But, Kazekage-sama, you could have just sent for me. You know that the Playhouse at your beck and call."

Actually, since the death of Chiyo it was at Kankuro's beck and call; but Kankuro was the brother of the Kazekage, and so Gaara had puppeteer loyalty if only by association.

"I know," Gaara said evenly, "but the task I require you to perform is sensitive in nature. I don't want anyone questioning this more than they have to."

Frog's wide eyes narrowed. "Kazekage-sama..what is it you need?"

"A set of eyes, Frog." Gaara said evenly. "Glass ones to be exact. A set that match my own perfectly." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "I have no idea how to go about retrieving these eyes, and I'm afraid I cannot ask my brother, as he is.."

"Under house arrest?" Frog offered helpfully. The glare his Kazekage gave him made him shrink back a little. "Word gets around, Kazekage-sama." He said apologetically. "Begging your pardon, but there's not much we don't hear about."

"Indeed." Gaara replied.

"Uh..sir..why didn't you ask another puppeteer? I mean, Dragon has more status within the playhouse and Panda is in charge of specialty supplies."

Gaara rose one hairless brow. "But they are not you." He pointed out.

Frog nodded slowly, as though worried that sudden movements would draw an attack. Gaara, seeing the blatant confusion on the puppeteer's face, leaned back in his chair. "Panda and Dragon are unknown to me." He said. "Most of you are- I know you only through my brother."

"But I know you," he went on. "I have seen you with my brother. You are..friends." Gaara was still unsure of the meaning of the word, but he recognized the interaction between his brother and Frog. "You know more about his puppetry than I do. You would know what his preferences are."

Frog stared at him.

"He did it, didn't he?" the puppeteer asked reverently. "He actually built it."

Gaara's gaze went sharp and Frog's hands came up in an automatic reflex as he explained, "he said he was thinking about it, Kazekage-sama- an impersonation puppet, for assassins. I helped him draw up the plans. I'm good with weapons placement."

"How many other people know about this?" Gaara asked, voice deadly tight.

"Only you, me, and him, Kazekage-sama." Frog said. "I swear it on Chikamatsu's strings. We kept the lid on those plans so tight not even a sand grain could get through."

"This impersonation puppet, Frog," Gaara said, "has caused my brother stress, dehydration, a terrible hangover, and a number of other unfortunate things. Why did you not stop him?"

"_Stop _him?" Frog asked incredulously. "Kazekage-sama, begging your pardon, sir, but stopping Crow's like trying to stop a sandstorm! When he's got an idea he just goes and there's no power in all of Suna that will keep him from it- except maybe you, sir. When he didn't come in to the playhouse we all just figured that was what happened- he got swallowed up by a project. After.." Frog paused, gathered his breath, and continued, "after the battle with Sasori, sir, he was pretty broken up. Most of us thought he was fixing the Brothers. I offered to help, but he didn't want any."

Gaara steepled his fingers. "tomorrow," he said, "you will accompany me to the Artisan's Walk, where we will find a glassmaker who can keep his mouth shut. Consider all other duties suspended, is that clear?"

"Yes, Kazekage-sama." Frog said.

"Good. Dismissed."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Frog gathered up his bundle and hurried as fast as he could to the door. He brushed it, then turned his head.

"Kazekage-sama?"

"Yes, Frog?"

"He wasn't too broken up about the Brothers." Frog said, voice shaking a little bit in amazement at his own bravery. "he was more upset about you, sir. You can fix a puppet..but you can't fix dead."

With those parting words Frog ran for his life while retaining as much dignity as he could properly manage. Gaara watched the door of his office thunk shut.

"Puppeteers." He muttered to himself.

**oOo **

Frog had been one bed shy of being poisoned.

Like the others in their year, he had listened to his fellows tease Crow mercilessly, taking out their frustrations on the Kazekage's son. Like the others, he had said nothing. It was more self-preservation than anything else, because Frog had never been strong. He was always quiet, always the first one to bed and the first one up. He didn't break the rules, didn't talk to anyone, and most especially never got involved in other peoples' fights.

When they got sick, he knew what had happened. Of course, it was never proven; even now Crow would never admit to it. But that night, when those five beds were empty and the entire dormitory was shocked into silence, Frog gathered up what little courage he had and asked Crow why.

"I never stopped them," he had said, "even though I could have. Why the five of them and not me?"

Crow looked at him for a moment and then said, as though the answer were entirely obvious, "but you wanted to. I could see it, in your eyes." The brunette considered for a moment, and then said, "you might want to work on that. It could get you killed."

Frog had taken those words to heart, because Crow never said anything lightly. As the years passed and they grew up together, Frog became perhaps the closest thing Crow- Kankuro- could call a friend.

Frog had known the mission to Leaf was suicide.

"He'll kill you!" the blonde puppeteer had argued with Crow the night before they were to leave. "Once he transforms the demon will take over and you'll die!"

"He has more control than you think he does, Frog."

"But there's no guarantee you'll be out of the way in time!" Frog had been vehement. "I know he's your brother, I know your father ordered you to do it, but Crow, please! Don't throw away your life for- for a monster!"

he'd had to stop because Crow had looked at him, and it was the Fourth Kazekage's look- cold and hateful and slightly arrogant. "Say that again, Jun," Crow has murmured, deadly serious, "and I will kill you."

Crow only ever used real names in the playhouse when he was serious. And when they'd come home, all three of them, the desert's demon slung over his friend's shoulder, bleeding hard and breathing shallow, Frog had been one of the puppeteers to bring him inside the Playhouse. Never again had he even whispered the word 'monster' in Crow's presence.

It was hard, though, to harness the old fear. Even now, with Gaara as Kazekage, Frog couldn't help the tremor of his hands or the quickness of his breath when he talked to the village leader. Gaara understood, he knew; after all, years of torment aren't swept away with a few months of good deeds. Still, Frog had done his best to get over himself and aided other puppeteers in doing the same.

He could talk the talk, any puppeeteer could; but it was much harder to walk the walk when the Kazekage was meandering beside you, looking for all the world like a kid out on errands for his mother.

"I haven't been down this way in a while." The Kazekage murmured. "It's so large."

It was true; the Artisan's walk started at the gates of Sunakagure and went all the way to the open courtyard where the Bazaar took place. Suna boasted her share of weavers, painters, metal workers, and potters, but the ninja village's pride and joy were her glass makers.

Many of the glass makers were citizens, to whom the skill and knowledge of their craft was passed by relatives. Others were ninja, with fire-based chakra they utilized in their home terrain by creating beautiful and sometimes deadly works of art.

"There are four different shops that the Playhouse uses," Frog rambled, trying his best to remain level-headed, "but if you want the best then you go to Mirror Moon." He pointed to the shop he mentioned, small and neat in a stucco building on the left. The sign for its name was lettered elegantly in a handwriting Gaara recognized. The Kazekage looked at Frog, who smiled.

"We like old Matsuo," Frog said by way of explanation. "So we do things for him."

In Kankuro's case, creating a sign; as they stepped through the long beaded curtain that kept out the dust and the heat of the day, Gaara saw his brother's maker-mark- a small black-laquered wing- imprinted on the sign's side.

The inside of Mirror Moon was much wider than it appeared from the street; the filtered shades built into the windows let in light while keeping out dust. Every available surface was cluttered with pieces of glass. Statues of animals, people, and objects, beautiful vases and urns, and in one corner a glass waterfall set into a bowl of sandstone, spun of fine threads that crashed into a pool of clear glass. Small jade fish appeared to be swimming there, the sandstone bank filled with all kinds of desert flowers.

Gaara's eyes widened slightly as Frog called, "Matsuo! You here, old man?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" from the secondary door behind the counting-table appeared an old man, balding and slight, wearing a heavy leather apron and no shirt. "For the love of the Deep Sands, Frog, can't you give a man a moment to-"

Matsuo froze in his tracks when the hooded man beside Frog briefly flashed his features. Matsuo's jaw tightened. Gaara's mental files flipped open. Hidaka Matsuo, Jounin, ten years older than Baki. Retired formally five years after he passed the exams. Ninja and Kazekage weighed one another quietly, and for a moment Gaara feared he would have to find another shop, that Matsuo-like so many others- would refuse to serve his village's demon.

But whatever the old glassmaker was thinking, the word 'demon' wasn't involved; he gave a short bow and said, "Kazekage-sama, what brings you to my shop? And in this rapscallion's company, no less." Frog grinned sheepishly.

Gaara folded his hands before him. "I am told you are skilled in creating copies, Matsuo-san, so accurate that they mimic life." He said quietly. "Are you skilled enough, perhaps, to duplicate something some find impossible?" He gave the artisan a slow and blatant blink of both eyes.

Understanding dawned on the old man's features. "I am glad the Kazekage wishes to test my skills," He said evenly. "And how many times would you like it copied?"

"Twice," Gaara replied. "And if you could polish it bright enough to perhaps attract a crow, that would be even better."

Matsuo grinned toothily at his village leader's double talk. "I've had some dealings with Crows, Kazekage-sama." He said. "In my experience, they are only attracted to the best."

"That is why I came here." Gaara said.

"Well then, sir, please come with me- I'll need some time to get the pigments right, that is, if you want the copy to be perfect."

"I do."

Matsuo turned and headed back through the door. Gaara followed, flanked by Frog. Just beyond the entrance was a long courtyard, open to the sky with tall rounded ovens burning hot. A short roof to the left covered a vast expanse of tables, on which rested glass phials, rods, and hollow tubes. There were shallow bowls of powdered pigments, barrels of charcoal and pieces of broken glass. There was a dug pit covered with canvas and wood which bore inside of it finished pieces, and sitting on a perch was a glass hawk, made of loops and scalloped edges, with hard ruby eyes.

Gaara and Frog followed Matsuo to the overhang, where the man put on his balding head what looked to be the strangest pair of goggles the Kazekage had ever seen; pieces of plain glass with at least seven lenses that got progressively smaller. Clicking down three of these lenses, Matsuo squinted at his village leader.

"Lean in, Kazekage-sama." He said. "I need to see your eyes."

**oOo **

Three hours later, Frog and Gaara left the shop, the Kazekage with two packages, the puppeteer with strict orders to 'come back in twenty four hours or I'll flay you." As they made their way up to the Bazaar, Gaara said thoughtfully, "He is strange."

"Matsuo?" Frog replied. "Yeah, he's got a couple gears loose, but he's very skilled."

"It has been my experience," Gaara said, "that all puppeteers have 'a couple gears loose'."

It was a statement of fact as he knew it, so Gaara was surprised when Frog stared at him- and then started laughing. "Well, that's an improvement, at least," the puppeteer said. "A sense of humor. Goodness knows demons don't have that."

Gaara wisely decided that it was not the best time to tell Frog that he had been entirely serious.

"You are afraid of me." He said when Frog's laughter had quieted. "I can see it in your eyes."

Frog didn't look surprised; instead his green painted face twisted in annoyance. "You can? Damn it. I thought I was getting better at that." He tappedhis cheek just under one light blue eye. "Crow is always telling me I give too much away. No matter how hard I try, I just can't change it."

"You should not have to."

"Huh?"

"Feel afraid." Gaara looked around. The sun was beginning to come down. The walls around them were bathed orange and red, and the wind had settled to a gentle breeze. "No one should be afraid anymore."

"Kazekage…" Frog took a breath. "People will always be afraid, sir. Of demons, of war, of sickness..of someone dying. If you're not afraid, you're stupid, because there's always something to be afraid of." Frog looked down at his feet. "Crow told me once that there's no point in being fearless- just be smart enough to be afraid of the right things."

"And am I a 'right thing' to be afraid of?" Gaara asked curiously. Frog shook his head. "Not anymore, Kazekage-sama." He said.

"Kankuro is still afraid."

"But not of you." Frog said. "For you. And that's the right kind of fear, I think."

The puppeteer and the Kazekage remained together for the rest of the afternoon, parting ways only at the bright red gates of the Playhouse. Frog endured his dorm-mates' good-natured ribbing, asking where he'd been, and he concocted a story that would have made Crow laugh until his gut hurt, if he wasn't under house arrest.

**oOo **

Frog opened the small box and gazed down at the pieces resting there.

"They're perfect." He said in awe. "Matsuo, they're downright _eerie._"

"I try." The grizzled old glass maker said with a grin. Then his face gained a serious light. "Take them straight to him, Frog. Don't stop for anyone and don't take the main path."

The puppeteer smirked. "Like you need to tell me. Thank you, Matsuo. Do you need me to deliver a receipt?"

"And leave evidence?" Matsuo guffawed. "No, no. The Kazekage taking a liking to the hawk and the waterfall's enough for me. Just get those to where they need to be. I don't suppose you'd tell me what they're for?"

Frog's smile was downright evil. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Figured as much. Just get em' delivered, you punk."

"I will. Thank you, Matsuo."

"No problem, puppeteer."

Frog left the shop and ducked into a side alley, climbing up to Sunakagure's upper road; just a puppet ninja on an errand for the playhouse. In his belt-pouch, his Kazekage's eyes gazed into serenity.

It was time to start fearing the right things.

_**A/N: Whew. I had some major trouble with this chapter- mostly with Matsuo and Frog. I suppose you could say they're meant to represent the more tolerant part of Suna, especially once the Shukaku was pulled from Gaara's body. I didn't want to cram a whole lot into the chapter but I had to give you insight to Frog's character, so I'm sorry if it seems a little too focused on him. Next chapter, more Kankuro and Gaara, promise!**_


	4. Strength

**Part 4: Strength**

Kankuro liked making puppets out of strong people.

Not the same way Sasori did (that was wrong, and sick, and went against all the codes set down by Chikamatsu and he'd be DAMNED if he ran his Playhouse like that) but in a way that was distinctly hard to describe.

Kankuro did not think of himself as strong. He thought he was quickwitted, limber, stealthy, yes, but not strong, not when it mattered. He had the emotional strength of a sandcastle beneath all those layers and carefully constructed facades. He cared too much.

And that had been his downfall. If he had been a better ninja, more in touch with his emotional floodgates, he might have been able to beat Sasori. If he had only been able to forget his brother, forget his Kazekage and focus on Sasori merely as an obstacle then maybe, maybe, he could have won.

But he didn't.

Sakura had defeated the Scorpion King; Naruto and Chiyo had saved Gaara.

And Kankuro was left alone to add another layer to that ever-growing repertoire of masks.

So strength- the kind Naruto had, the kind Sakura had- these appealed to him. If he could take into himself, in some small dose, his sister's tenacity, his brother's capacity for love, Naruto's determination, Sakura's relentlessness, then maybe he could become a better ninja.

But that wasn't why he built the Gaara puppet.

He'd been examining the idea for a few years; what puppeteer wouldn't? the possibilities were endless. A warrior called a demon, a literal juggernaut with a flee-on-sight order in half the countries past the five great nations. It would be a feather in any performer's cap to successfully control such power. And who, if not him? He, who it could be argued knew the beast the most intimately?

Of course, as he thought of it he decided a Temari was needed too. They were a set, he'd always felt, three-in-one. He had the plans still, half-sketched out in some forgotten notebook locked away with the paint and the poison. He'd been planning on putting his sister in a kimono.

Then Gaara had died and it all changed.

The puppet's offensive capabilities became more defensive; what had been focused out now pointed in. Kankuro couldn't quite remember what he had been drinking the night he'd drawn up the final blueprints but he was sure that it had been good.

Kankuro had desperately thrown every bit of himself into the work. Every hidden mechanism he knew and a few he'd invented, every poisoned powder, liquid, and paste. Blades and bombs and tags, all the nuances of his secretive art he had blended together to form the sleeping demon in the basement.

Because if Gaara died again, then he would crumble. The castle would fall and he would be nothing more than a shell of himself, a pathetic and tortured mask with nothing behind it.

Kankuro will make a puppet to protect the strongest person he knows.

Because Kankuro is not strong.

**oOo**

Gaara has always believed Kankuro is strong.

He knows it, both on a conscious and unconscious level, because in all their years 'together', throughout all the missions and all the blood, there was one thing Kankuro never did.

He never ran.

Oh, he had been terrified. Shukaku knew that and had pressed the advantage on nights when the moon was especially strong. But the elder brother had stood his ground, never faltering, never disobeying.

It is a different kind of strength, he knows, than the kind he has, the kind Naruto has. Naruto rushes headlong into fights, thinking of nothing but his end goal and doing all he can to accomplish it or die trying. Gaara himself is much the same, crushing all those who oppose him though more metaphorically than literally, these days.

Kankuro is a cat before the water, batting at it carefully, considering all angles. He does not have the power of a jinchurriki, nor the force of the winds behind him.(and Kankuro thinks that Gaara doesn't know that his chakra is fire-based but how could he NOT know, not accept that warmth and rage and pure destructive fire for what it is, even if their father shared the same flame proclivities?) Kankuro looks, considers, calculates risks..

And then he jumps anyway.

This was the case, Gaara knew, with the failed mission to Leaf. He knows his brother's brigade-mates tried to stop him. He knows Frog begged 'Crow' not to go. But Crow went anyway, because his siblings needed him.

The fight against Sasori proved that.

Gaara can honestly say that he isn't sure whether or not his brother could have defeated the Scorpion King. He would like to think that he could, but there were differences in ideology to consider, in age and knowledge. Kankuro is stubborn, like their father was. When he bit, he did not let go. Perhaps he would have won through sheer bullheadedness, or at least "given the undead bastard a run for his yen". So what went wrong?

Gaara knows, and he calls this strength, because Kankuro was the first to reach out to him, the first to accept his apology. Kankuro was his first introduction to a world with brothers and sisters in it.

"_You're a little brother I'll always have to worry about." _

_I was worried for you. _

_I was terrified for you. _

_I was willing to die for you. _

Gaara was taken and Kankuro did not look. He leaped.

Gaara does not understand emotions, not the way he wishes he did. Kankuro, he knows, is a master of emotions- manipulating them, altering them, supporting or refuting them. It is what makes him a good Troupe Master, a good sensei, and (though Gaara willed it to never happen outside of drills and certain missions) a good Jounin Commander.

The Kazekage knows his brother does not think he is strong, and lacks the words to tell his sibling otherwise. Thinking about the silent form in his workshop, he wishes he did, because in his own way Kankuro is merely repeating the same old song and dance.

Kankuro would be reckless for his brother. Perhaps others did not see it as strength.

Gaara knows better.

_**A/N: It's more of an interlude than I would like, but hey, work with what you've got. I'm hoping to get Temari into this thing eventually- at this rate I'm going to have to do a Kankuro-Temari sibling fic just to make up for all the face time she's losing.**_


	5. Tragedies

**Chapter 5: Tragedies**

When Gaara walked into Kankuro's room with a small box, the puppeteer put aside the large leather-bound book he had been studying and asked plaintively, "permission to speak freely, Kazekage sir?"

"Permission not granted." Gaara put the box down on his brother's desk. "How many times has she caught you today?"

"Only twice." Kankuro said.

"You could get around her if you really wanted to."

And it was true; Kankuro knew the ins and outs of the citadel better than even Gaara, who had spent thousands of sleepless nights wandering the halls.

"I could," Kankuro agreed, "but then she'd beat me to death with her fan and I just now became a functioning member of society again. You know the playhouse is going nuts without me."

"You've been sending them messages every morning."

"Hey, a ship can't run if the captain's in the brig."

Gaara resisted the automatic urge to point out that neither he nor Kankuro had ever been in a brig. "Your house arrest is up." He said, tapping the box. "You have work to do."

Kankuro rose one slim painted brow and tilted his head, inviting his brother to continue. In response, Gaara tapped the box again, and Kankuro shrugged. The puppeteer pulled the box closed and flipped the catch, opening the lid. He stared down in impassive silence at two sets of Gaara-green glass eyes, resting on a bed of cotton batting. Kankuro didn't even have to look at the maker's mark burned into the box's lid to know that the work was Matsuo's.

"Frog." He said, and it wasn't a question. Gaara nodded. "I'm gonna beat his ass." The puppeteer said fondly. "You cornered him in the market, didn't you?"

"We had a briefing first." Gaara defended. "Besides, it was an order from the Kazekage. And in cases of village security, Troupe Master, my authority overrules yours."

"Now it's a case of village security?"

Gaara's eyes met his brother's. "That's what we're calling it when we classify it as top secret."

Kankuro tapped his fingers. "Top secret. Huh, first time I've made that listing since that A Rank to Rock Country."

"Kankuro." Gaara said. "I want to see you put them in."

It was no idle request. Ninja who were not puppeteers were never allowed past the playhouse's stage; Gaara and Temari had never been in the workshop while their brother was at his craft. Puppetry was secret, it was sacred, and it was the one thing on which Kankuro never negotiated.

So it took Gaara by surprise when Kankuro only nodded.

"No point in finishing the artwork if the model doesn't get to see it, huh?" he said, the barest ghost of a real smile passing over his lips as he stood up, closing the box. "Alright. Let me get the traps set up here, first. Wouldn't want anyone breaking in and stealing all my precious first edition icha ichas."

"I thought Temari burned those."

"Temari _tried, _ja."

**oOo**

For obvious reasons, Kankuro did not want to be seen; Gaara agreed and so let his older brother lead the way to his workshop, taking so many turns and twists and secret passages that by the time they made it to the tell-tale door Gaara's head was spinning. "How do you remember it all?" he asked, standing back a safe distance as his brother disengaged all the traps.

"It's like the playhouse, little bro. All roads lead somewhere. Remind me to draw you a map sometime." Kankuro stood back. "There."

The two ninja entered the workshop, which looked much the same as it had the night Gaara placed his brother under house arrest, save for the long white shroud that covered the form on the table. Kankuro must have placed it there on one of his many forays out of his room, unable to sit still while confined.

Gaara found he was unable to look directly at it- if he tried, his gaze automatically skittered off and he was filled with the intense urge to forget whatever it was he had been trying to look at. Kankuro muttered a seal and the genjutsu dispelled. The puppeteer strode forward and pulled the white cloth off in one smooth motion.

Gaara looked at his wooden doppleganger, then sat on the bench next to the table and watched Kankuro move about, collecting tools from various drawers and cabinets, muttering to himself. Looking from the puppet to Kankuro, it suddenly struck Gaara how very different they were,

Kankuro returned to the table with a set of calipers, a small tube, a soft cloth, and a brush. He reached for the box and opened it, beginning to talk.

"Puppet eyes," he said, "they're set a little differently than human eyes. They're further back in the face, a little more inset so there's more grab in the back." He held up one of the glass eyeballs and Gaara noted for the first time that there was a small pucker on the back, like the edges in a screw. "That's where most of the chakra's contained. It feeds off the strings running through all the gears and is tied directly to the puppeteer."

Gaara didn't speak, knowing instinctively that what he was hearing wasn't meant for others' ears, that his brother was entrusting him with..something. Kankuro worked the calipers, measuring eyeball against socket.

"Some puppeteers use bigger eyes than others, depending on how much chakra they like to use and the qualities of their puppets. Dragon, for instance-" here Gaara's mind conjured up the image of the huge black-haired Dragon, the most outspoken of Kankuro's political opponents. "-Dragon's main puppet is less human than Karasu or Kuroari, and it has more emphasis on power than control, so he uses really big and animalistic eyes."

Kankuro's head twisted at an almost impossible angle as he prodded into the puppet's empty sockets. "I'm more of a humanoid puppet specialist, and that requires more chakra control, so most of my eyes are the same size as a person's. You went to Matsuo, so he..yes, he did." Kankuro put the calipers down.

"He what?" Gaara asked.

"He made them to my usual specifications." Kankuro explained. "Matsuo's got my measurements down."

Kankuro took the tube and squeezed a small amount of a gray paste onto one of the table's ceramic wells, then took the brush and one of the eyeballs and carefully began coating the back.

"Glue?" Gaara asked.

"Ultra special glue for ultra special people." Kankuro said with a grin, continuing to work. "It's chakra-matched to me, so every time I run energy through it, it'll increase the stick." The back of the eyeball was coated evenly. Kankuro held it by his fingernails, looking over it carefully. Then he leaned over and, with a surgeon's precision, placed the eyeball in the left socket.

Gaara felt a start. Where once there had been black space, now he was staring at himself- an eye for an eye. Kankuro coated the second eyeball with the same precision as the first and set it in. He placed one palm over the puppet's eyes, as though it were dead and he were closing the lids. Gaara saw his brother's chakra, a barely-visible quiver of air, working down through the sockets. The quiver became more pronounced as the chakra heated up, hardening the glue.

Kankuro removed his hand and took the cloth from where he had left it nearby, giving both eyes a quick polish.

Quite suddenly, the Gaara puppet sat up. On instinct, Gaara held very still.

"Gaara," Kankuro said, "Meet Gaara."

The puppet offered a hand. Gaara blinked at it a moment, then took it and shook.

"Pleasure to meet you." He said evenly. "You come here often?"

"Only when you're in mortal danger so your moron of an older brother can stop worrying." The puppet said in a perfect deadpan imitation of the original, and Gaara glanced sharply at Kankuro, who grinned sheepishly and released the chakra strings, setting the Gaara puppet down and closing its black-painted eyelids.

"He's not entirely done." Kankuro said. "I still need to figure out the sand. Imitating the ultimate defense is gonna be tricky, but hey, I love a challenge."

Gaara placed a hand on the puppet's forehead.

"I will help."

"Uh, Gaara," Kankuro said, "I know you're like a chakra dynamo but I don't want you climbing inside my puppet and then breaking it."

"I meant," Gaara said, "that I will help with the sand." He looked over the puppet. "There must be a way. And if I am nearby when it is in use, I can utilize my own techniques around it. We would have to coordinate our movements, but it could be done."

After all, they'd been on the same team since as long as either could remember.

"I should have been the one to do it, you know."

Gaara looked at Kankuro, who gazed down at the puppet on the table with a melancholy look. "I know it." Kankuro continued absently. "That jutsu. I made her show it to me once."

Gaara felt his blood run cold as Kankuro continued, "It wouldn't have been hard, I don't think. She said she thought it might be like falling asleep, but she hadn't tried it." Kankuro leaned against the table. "She got there first. That was all."

"NEVER."

It was said with such vehemence that Kankuro instinctively rose his arms, transported for a moment to another time and place when that tone of voice meant that his life was in serious danger. Gaara's gaze was like diamond, unbreakable and furious.

"You will NEVER use that jutsu for me, do you understand?!" Gaara wasn't sure when his hands had grabbed Kankuro's arms, shaking him almost violently. "If you do that you're gone, not like me- you wouldn't come back and then what would I do?"

Years of ninja training battled hard against instinctive obedience and Kankuro did the only thing that either confused side of him would allow- he wrapped his arms tight around Gaara, which stopped the gratuitous shaking and allowed him a moment to breathe.

"I can't lose you." Gaara whispered into his brother's shoulder. "I can't."

"But I lost you." Kankuro's voice was broken.

"Then you know how it feels." Gaara said. Unspoken, _Would you put me through that? _

"I couldn't do anything."

"I'm here. It doesn't matter." They separated slightly, just enough to look at one another, Troupe Master to Kazekage.

"The both of us," Gaara said. "We're still here."

Their father wasn't. Chiyo wasn't. The past was gone, crumbling dust on the wind.

"Someday, we'll be gone too." Kankuro said.

"Someday. But not today, or tomorrow." Gaara smiled. "Not without a fight, anyway. We're too much..like our father for that."

Kankuro smiled slightly and looked from his brother to the puppet. He leaned down, putting his arms under the puppet's knees and behind its back. He lifted it up and turned, glancing over his shoulder. "Come on, bro. Let's put you to bed."

Gaara nodded and followed his brother to a nearby cabinet, locked with seals. Kankuro snapped his long fingers and the seals dropped off, letting the door swing open. Inside was a small wooden stool. Kankuro placed the puppet so that it was seated on the stool, arranging its arms so that they were folded. It looked for all the world as though the Kazekage were asleep.

Another snap of his fingers and the seals rose up again, sticking to the handles and surface of the doors as they closed.

"You should build a Temari." Gaara said as Kankuro activated the traps, stepping out into the hallway. "Just so we match."

"Maybe I could use it on that punk Nara." Kankuro agreed. "I was thinking about it, actually."

Kankuro's mind wandered to the sketchbook, forgotten in a corner. He'd show Gaara the design, work with Frog on the mechanics, maybe Sparrow for the paint. He'd present it to Temari on her birthday and she'd squeal and call him a freak but even as she threatened to destroy it she would look at it, wonder at the details, down to the freckles she denied were on her face.

He would have to go to Matsuo, for her eyes.

But first he and Gaara would go through the book at his desk together, to find another paint design.

Kankuro was tired of tragedies.

_**A/N: The end, I suppose, of Coping. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted and favorited this story- your support means a lot to me. And for those of you wondering, there is of course potential for a Temari-puppet story, although I doubt it will be as dramatic.**_


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